The Golden Age of Hollywood . Tom Riddle

Chapter 20

AN: A bit of smut at the end of the chapter.

The evening was still young when Norma and Tom approached the Pan-Pacific Auditorium. The building stood grand, it's sleek white-and-green façade was brightly lit, with four stylized towers slicing the darkened sky like airplane's fins. Tom followed Norma dutifully as she eagerly led him toward the entrance of the concert hall, fingers tightly laced with his as she showed the way. Quite a lot of people had already amassed in the corridors, aimlessly walking around, but Norma navigated through the crowd with ease, as Tom quietly observed her back. That is, until Norma let go off his hand to unfasten her coat, and Tom had to increase his pace to keep up with her, annoying bodies of strangers interrupting his path too often.

The concert venue was grander than he had anticipated and adorned more with military insignia rather than with holiday decorations: flags were hung on every wall, and the remaining space was taken up by posters and banners. There even was a poster telling not to waste food, since 'Every rotten vegetable serves Hitler a meal'. Odd, Tom thought, considering that earlier that day he saw Norma and Priscilla throw out a basket of slightly wrinkled potatoes, because "they are too dry and will ruin the gratin". Looking around some more, Tom noted that at this place, the only element of festivity was an impressively tall, but sparsely decorated Christmas tree, hidden in the corner next to the stage and looking rather grim.

The spacious hall was filled with rows upon rows of chairs, the ones in the very front being from polished wood and softly padded. Tom saw first soldiers beginning to fill the seats, while proud officers were mingling with dignitaries and officials along the edges of the hall, their military medals glinting in the dull light.

"All right," Norma said, stopping just short of the aisle that led to his seat in the very front row and abruptlytucked a curl behind her ear. She turned to him, briefly taking his hand in hers, and spoke urgently. "This is where you'll be. I'm heading backstage now."

Quickly, Norma stood on her tiptoes and gave him a peck on the lips, before letting go of his hand and disappearing behind a thick curtain, next to a group of engineers putting up a radio broadcast equipment, leaving Tom with a now familiar pang of loss. An annoyed look from one of the workers was a sign for him to give them space to work, and so, chasing away bad thoughts, Tom went to settle into the plush seat reserved for him and began to discreetly glance around.

A few minutes later, an older man in a well-decorated military uniform sat down beside him. His stern face, hardened by years of service, was frowning, and Tom noticed how his gaze flicked suspiciously over him, assessing him coldly, with calculated precision. The man leaned over, his close presence forcing Tom to acknowledge him by turning his head and facing the man.

"And who might you be?" he asked, his gruff voice sounding very unwelcoming.

Tom felt his face tighten. The audacity of a Muggle speaking to him with such rudeness stirred a familiar indignation in his chest. A Muggle is ought to know his place when addressing the heir to Salazar Slytherin. And yet simultaneously Tom reminded himself that causing a scene here would hardly be wise: the man seemed important and there were far too many witnesses.

An idea appeared in his mind. Shifting subtly, Tom slid his wand from his pocket, concealing it in the fabric of his coat, and with the smallest flick, whispered Confundus. Instantly, the man's gaze softened, eyes glazing over, and his expression became vague and unfocused.

"Ah, I didn't realize you were with the British Embassy," he said nodding, seemingly recalling a real detail, then even turned to introduce Tom to a colleague nearby, who gave a courteous nod, before settling back into his chair.